The Challenge
by Predators and Prey
Summary: A challenge between two of Skins fanfics most popular authors... A one chapter write off to win the hand in virtual marriage of an esteemed and rather lovely reviewer.  Read enjoy and vote for your favourite...
1. Chapter 1

A Mighty Duel

Greetings beloved readers, HyperFitched here. Those of you who follow any of the authors of theses pages on Twitter will already know that there is a good deal of banter and light hearted swagger going on. And sometimes this joshing leads to ideas and challenges – both The Game and Kitchen Stories came out of ideas floated out during our chats.

And such a time has come again. Except this time, instead of a collaboration, we have a duel… A write off between whyyesitscar and FitchSwitch to win the hand in marriage of an esteemed reviewer, the lovely rockyourworld.

But first a little background. Yesterday I was on Twitter and I noticed I had a new follower called rock0your0world… literally moments later there was a tweet from whyesitscar along the lines of 'whoever rockyourworld is, I want to marry her for that last review'. To which FitchSwitch replied that she too wanted to marry rock for a similarly lovely review. There followed a great deal of bragging and facing off (honestly, it was worse than a freestyle hip hop battle out there) during which time I informed rockyourworld to her great delight that two of her favourite author's were fighting over her. I know from first hand experience that she does write lovely reviews and is definitely worth fighting for. Eventually a challenge was thrown down, a duel was proposed and the contestants agreed terms…

A story, in less than 2000 words, to be delivered today on a subject that rockyourworld herself would choose. You the readers, will get to vote on your favourite, but the final arbiter will be the lady herself. I will deliver the stories anonymously in the next two chapters (I have even flipped a coin for the order), and will inform you of the victor once rockyourworld has had time to digest and make her choice….

The subject Ladies and Gentlemen is Naomily when they are older, a lot older. I believe silver hair was demanded…

So read, enjoy, don't forget to vote for your favourite, and may the best woman win…

Two writers enter. One writer leaves. Welcome to FanFicDome…..


	2. Story Red

"I could always dye my hair red again."

Naomi Fitch-Campbell pulled off her glasses and looked at her wife of 50-something years. Emily was standing in front of the mirror in their room and studying her hair, turning side to side as though that was going to change the image in the mirror. As Naomi watched she lifted up a piece and ran her fingers through the silver strands.

"Why would you do that?" she asked. "I happen to like your hair like it is right now."

"You liked my hair red," Emily huffed.

"When we were sixteen," Naomi agreed. She tried to keep the smile off her face and failed. She wasn't quite sure how her wife could remain insanely cute after so many years but she wasn't going to question it. "And I also liked your hair when it was brown, and when it was pink for a little bit –"

"_One _Halloween party," Emily mumbled exasperatedly.

"- and I like your hair now too. I love _you_, it doesn't matter what hair color you have."

Emily stopped eyeing herself in the mirror and glanced at Naomi sideways. "I never should have let you study journalism," she said. "You've gotten far too good with words."

"Oh please," Naomi grinned and sat up straighter in bed. "I was always good with words."

"'Naomi – get to know me'?" Emily teased, but she finally turned away from the mirror completely and ignored herself in favor of making fun of her wife.

"I said I was good with words, not slogans."

Emily laughed.

"Hey!" Naomi protested. "I won you back with words didn't I? Twice!"

Emily thought back to the two weeks they'd broken up during university and frowned at her wife. "Way to kill the mood, Naoms."

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware there was a mood to kill, Ems."

"There isn't now," Emily crossed her arms and turned back to the mirror.

Naomi sighed. "Is this because Katie dyed her hair the other day?"

"I am way past the point where I do anything simply because my twin did it," Emily said, but the way she went back to running her hands over her hair made that statement a lie.

"Should I take that as a yes then?"

"I hope you're not getting comfortable on that bed," Emily glared at Naomi from the mirror. "Because the way you're heading you're not going to be sleeping in it tonight."

Naomi rolled her eyes. "Aren't we a little old to be threatening each other with sleeping on the couch?"

"We are never too old for me to threaten to make you sleep on the couch."

"Emily," Naomi sighed and threw off the covers.

The house was so absurdly quiet now that the kids and grandkids had left. Sundays were family day in the Fitch-Campbell house, and usually they were joined by Katie and various other members of the group as well. Today Katie had shown up with her hair dyed a nice, rich brown and no one had dared to tell her that it looked a little ridiculous, because no matter how old she got Katie Fitch still had a sharp tongue and a solid right hook.

But now that everyone was gone the only noises were the creaks and pops of a settling house, the breeze blowing outside the open window, and the radio playing softly in the corner. Naomi stood up and walked up behind Emily, slipping her arms around her wife and resting her head on her shoulder. Their eyes met through the mirror.

"You are just as gorgeous right now as you were the day you stormed into my room and told me that your first thought when you saw me wasn't that you wanted to 'fuck that girl'," she said sincerely. "And you're always going to _be _that gorgeous. Stop fussing? For me?"

The annoyance slowly drained from Emily's face and she leaned back into the embrace. "Easy for you to say," she grumbled, but it was less distressed and more good-natured now. "You could hardly even tell when your hair went white. Besides, that wasn't a complete lie. It _wasn't_ my first thought." She paused for a minute and grinned. "It was my second."

Naomi smiled and kissed the side of Emily's neck affectionately. If she was joking then she wasn't upset anymore, or at least not upset enough to let it bother her. She opened her mouth to say something snarky in reply and stopped when she properly heard the song on the radio.

"What?" Emily asked when she saw the look on her face, and then when Naomi moved away, "Where do you think you're going?"

Naomi ignored her and went over to turn up the radio. Emily's face lit up the minute the music started playing louder in the room. She laughed when Naomi bowed a little and held out her hand. "May I have this dance?" she asked formally.

"You may," Emily answered in the same tone of voice and slipped her hand into Naomi's.

Naomi immediately tugged her closer until her wife was completely wrapped up in her arms and they started to sway together. Naomi started to sing quietly into her ear: "I think about the years I spent just passing through, I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you…"

Emily brought her hands up to the back of Naomi's neck and pressed her face into her shoulder. "That's playing dirty, by the way," she said. "Getting the universe to throw you a bone like that."

"Right," Naomi grinned as her lips brushed the shell of Emily's ear. "As you know I anticipate all of our fights and make sure that the local radio stations play our wedding song accordingly."

"Hmmm," Emily hummed happily. "It's a good plan."

Naomi just shook her head slightly, tightened her arms around Emily, and kept dancing.

_Every long lost dream led me to where you are, others who broke my heart they were like northern stars, pointing me on my way into your loving arms, this much I know is true…that God bless the broken road that led me straight to you. _


	3. Story Blonde

You Can Close Your Eyes

"Here. This one right here. It looks like a river."

"That's a tactful way to put it."

"Stop," she says, laughing. Even after so many years, her laughter is my favorite sound. She picks up my arm again and smoothes her finger over a vein, traveling lightly over my skin from elbow to wrist. "The Nile, maybe," she debates. Her smirk is devilish. "Had fun in Egypt, didn't we?"

I scoff. "Ugh, I don't think fun is the way I'd describe it. We almost got arrested four times—all your fault, I might add."

"It absolutely was not!" I look pointedly at her. "Okay, well, the last one wasn't at least. Anyway, _you're_ the one with a bit of the Nile in her."

"Ems, I may be old but I'm not _that_ old."

She smiles and slides her hand down my arm, tracing the rivers under my skin, following tributaries that spill into the delta of my palm. Her fingers have lost elasticity in their pads. It just means there's more for me to hold. They are cool and familiar as they grasp mine, telling me with a squeeze that if I'm old, she's old. If I'm a bird, she's a bird—that sort of thing.

When words start failing you, a touch suddenly says more than you ever thought it could.

"You look tired, Naoms. You can sleep if you want."

I turn my head and smile at her, pressing a kiss to her temple. She's shrunk over the years, making her even tinier than she had been at seventeen. It's okay; I'm tinier, too, and her eyes are still the biggest things in my world.

"I sleep when you sleep," I answered. "Nine o'clock every night, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Well what do you want to do for fourteen minutes?"

"Can we just sit like this?"

She shifts her hand and pats the back of mine, laying her head on my shoulder. "For a bit."

I smile and sigh, looking down at our hands clasped on the couch. The backs of them are mottled, speckled with more liver spots than I'd like. We've been through a lot, my Emily and I. Trips around the world, frustrating bosses, three children, and Katie—always Katie. Our respective parents have gone and left us with trinkets, houses, and at least forty pounds worth of guilt. Don't even get me started on what grandchildren do to your figure. Red hair has turned brown and then gray; blonde has faded into white. Crinkles surround our eyes and mouths, and still I think my wife beautiful.

"You can close your eyes, Naomi. I'll wake you up in time for bed," she says cheekily.

I grin. "I want to watch the moon."

"You hate the moon."

"I do not. The moon means I love you."

She rustles her forehead against my shoulder. "And how exactly do you figure that?"

"Well," I say expertly, "the moon means the Earth is still in orbit, right?" She hums her agreement. "As long as that keeps up, you're the love of my life."

"You're such a sap," Emily laughs.

"You're one to talk. Can we go back to sitting now?"

"Of course, dear."

Our house is small and well-kept, walls littered with photographs and memories. The carpet has seen spit-up and dogs; the couch has housed Cook and Effy more times than they'd care to admit. We've grown into our bedroom, separating clothes and consolidating books. Emily's side of the dresser is littered with Post-Its—a recent addition. I've only got one, written by a sixteen-year-old with more faith and patience than I ever deserved.

It may have yellowed and the ink may have faded, but the meaning was never really in the words, anyway.

"It's okay if you close your eyes."

"You told me that already, Ems."

"Oh."

Almost seventy years later and I still want to protect her from everything. I feel it every day, the clock. Every beat of my heart is a tick; every two times Emily smiles, I think of the next three that she won't. Hours rush past like seconds when we visit Thomas and Panda isn't there anymore. I catch JJ's nurse steal a glance at her watch while he babbles away and I wonder if I should start preparing, even when every part of me wants to hug her away until the world stops asking questions. I contemplate taking one last trip—some place warm where the sun, which has always been so enamored with her face, can erase any shadows of the ordinary. I imagine margaritas on the beach, the ocean in her eyes, soft towels made of terrycloth and peace. There is a soft breeze blowing and a cool night is always made warmer by her hand in mine. I will always hold our house in a special regard, but home to me is wherever Emily is. Thanks to her, I have homes on six continents.

Emily's hand has found its way back to my arm, swirling patterns and shapes with the lightest of touches. She watches her fingers with a wistful gaze and I wonder what she's seeing, what she's remembering that makes her cheeks gleam with the most fulfilled smile I have ever seen.

"You're beautiful, Naomi," she whispers.

"You're biased."

She turns my arm over and peruses the freckles. "You have a lot of right triangles on you. I wonder what that means."

"I should probably keep my legs away from Pythagoras."

The clock chimes nine o'clock as she circles each dot individually. "Even your veins are pretty," she mutters. She stops on one. "Look, Naoms, this one looks like a river." Her face lights up mischievously. "Remember how gross the Nile was?"

I smile. "All too well." I get up slowly, my knees popping in protest. "Ready for bed, Ems?"

She stretches and yawns. "I guess. You look tired, though; you should get some rest."

I grab her hand as we walk to the bedroom. "I plan to."

We get changed in silence, no longer needing to rely on words to pass the time. She puts on my favorite nightgown and I settle into bed wearing her favorite reading glasses, and suddenly we've said all we need to.

"Don't stay up too late," she says, her voice already sleepy.

"Impossible when I've got a book in my hand."

"I love you, Naoms."

"Love you, too, Ems."

"Sweet dreams." It is barely more than a whisper but I hear it anyway. I listen for it every night because it is a promise more than a wish.

In my dreams, the sun shines on Emily's hair and we are young again—young and perfect and made for the world. We laugh our way through France, sneak our way through Egypt, smile our way through weddings. Her hand is in mine as we sit in the grass, on a cliff, in a Ferris wheel, and we can stay there as long as we like.


	4. The Verdict

The verdict

Thank you for reading people, wasn't it wonderful? I can now tell you that Story Red was written by FitchSwitch and Story Blonde was written by whyesitscar.

And here is rockyourworld's reply…

.

.

You guys. You guyyyyyys. It's bullet point time.

1. Both of you are incredible writers. I don't mean that in an ego-stroking

sort of ways. I'm not saying it like "You're both pretty, no need to fight,"

although I'm sure you both are VERY pretty, and really ladies…there's no

need to fight. You both (along with some other amazing writers on here

*waves*) have the ability to tell me a story about the same two people I read

about day in and day out and STILL keep me hooked on your every word.

Fabulous, both of you. Take a bow.

2. I think that just a half a paragraph of background is required here. See,

I work for a healthcare company that provides medical insurance to seniors. I

spend all day talking to them, helping them understand their benefits,

comforting them when it all gets too confusing and various other things. I

LOVE me some old people. So when I made the topic suggestion, I was thinking

that it would be a nice change from the "first meeting" type story. And it

was, right guys? I mean, how awesome to get snapshots from mature, grown up,

Grandma Naomi and Emily? Totally awesome. But my heart. It makes my heart

hurt. I could see an animal run over on the side of the road and if there was an

old person nearby I would be more worried about whether that old person had

enough food to eat, money for her blood pressure medicine and that she gets

enough visits from people that love her. Because I talk to people every day

who have issues with some, if not all of those things. So maybe I'm already

softened up a bit towards the old folks.

3. Story Red: You, my friend, have witty banter down. You have Naomily witty

banter down. Here, have a crown. It says "Master of Naomily Banter" on it.

I hope it's not too heavy. This story was just as I imagined it would be

like…years down the road, a little wrinkled and worn, but still sparkling at

each other. Naomi will still be dry and a little unbelieving that she STILL

has Emily. Because you know how your Naomi is. She's all like "NO WAY IS

THIS HAPPENING – I MUST BE IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE" all the time about

Emily. Emily will be gracious and understanding of Naomi's little faults

because Emily knows by now that those little cracks in Naomi were the parts

that Emily was made to fit into. (Did I steal that from someone? It sounds

vaguely familiar. No infringement intended.) This: "That's playing dirty, by

the way," she said. "Getting the universe to throw you a bone like that." /

"Right, as you know I anticipate all of our fights and make sure that the

local radio stations play our wedding song accordingly." It. Is. So. Cute.

You are most deserving of your crown. And the Rascal Flatts at the end? You

must REALLY want this hand.

4. Story Blonde: So I did a little research, after I recovered. I discovered

that I started tearing up around the 329th word. "She smiles and slides her

hand down my arm…" I started full out sobbing at word 538. The Post-Its.

DEAR GOD THE POST-ITS. After that I was a lost cause. At one point the real

Mrs. Rockyourworld had to come over from the desk (where she was reading the

stories for herself) and give me a big time hug so I could calm the fuck down.

Because this: "and I wonder if I should start preparing, even when every part

of me wants to hug her away until the world stops asking questions," made me

put the computer down so I could devote myself fully to sobbing and this: "In

my dreams, the sun shines on Emily's hair and we are young again—young and

perfect and made for the world," made me curse myself for this idea for at

least 10 minutes. And Car you really are a bastard because you KNOW I'm a

total sucker for any story that makes me FEEEEL. So, it was amazing.

5. That being said, I've decided that I have two hands. Left and right. You

may both virtually marry both hands and we can work out visitation rights

later. And this isn't a cop-out. You should know better than to make me

choose between the two of you anyways. Both of you are amazingly talented

and gifted writers and it is an absolute pleasure to read anything you commit to

paper. If you want, we can have a write-off to choose who gets the right and

who gets the left. Any takers?

.

.

And so there we have it. I hope you'll agree that what started out as a laugh, ended up with us being given something truly beautiful. So keep talking to us, we love to hear from our readers, and who knows you might even inspire a challenge of your own…

Thanks to both contestants and to rockyourworld, and to all the writers and readers that make out little corner of the universe a special place to be. Until next time, Hypes x


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